


Highborn

by EscapeTheVault



Series: Highborn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 06:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17637485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapeTheVault/pseuds/EscapeTheVault
Summary: Zenotha Aedius couldn't have fathomed what being captured by Imperial forces would lead to. She quickly finds out.





	Highborn

Zenotha wearily plopped onto a rock and stared blankly at the dead Dunmer in front of her. Apparently someone wanted her dead, and badly enough to pay to have it done, as if nearly being executed by the Imperials at Helgen wasn’t aggravating enough. The one man had clearly wanted to set her free but that bitch with him was having none of his shit, regardless of how rational it was. To be fair, Zenotha had noticed a lot of undermining of the female soldiers during the trade-off and transport of her and the other prisoners. She wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t have done the same thing, as annoying as it was to admit it.  


Of course, none of that mattered now, she was free, and there were even people that liked her for whatever shallow reasons. 'Blah, blah, everyone insults the elf until all of a sudden they’re in danger and she does that weird loud swirly thing and absorbs a dragon soul. The Nords that witness it must be besides themselves when they see an elf displaying the power from a Nord fairytale', she snickered to herself. 'I should style my hair so that my “knife ears” really show. What are they going to do? Attack a thane? Harm the “dovahkin”, whatever that actually means since no one can explain it without saying “it’s a Nord thing”? Apparently it’s not just a “Nord thing” if a fucking Altmer just got dragged into it.'  


Faendal came walking up the path with the pack full of Chaurus eggs they’d just collected. He threw a sideways glance to the dead elf and furrowed his brow. “That looks like Dark Brotherhood armor, you know.”  


“Dark Brotherhood? Like the Dark Brotherhood? Scary gang of assassins? Someone did all that Black Sacrament weird shit deliberately to have me wiped out?” Zenotha raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Well I guess I’ve really made it, then. I’m flattered.”  


“Zenotha, I don’t think that…..”  


“Oh, stop, Faendal. You know I’m joking.” She climbed to her feet. “Let’s check out what Mirinn left for me in this place, why don’t we?”  


The surprisingly unrusted key turned easily in the lock but the door stuck. She threw her weight onto the door a little bit too roughly, knocking it open. She stumbled to the ground and knocked down a bowl of fruit as she fell. She grabbed an apple and tossed it up at Fendal, laughing as she climbed to her feet. A quick glance around made her both happy and bittersweet- Mirinn had left Tundra Homestead completely stocked and furnished for her, even down to plenty of food. It was all still mostly fresh, so Zenotha had to have missed her by only a day or two. She hoped Mirinn knew what she was doing running off back to Morrowind on what she thought was a foolhardy mission, but she also couldn’t complain with at least having a home to call her own in Skyrim. Being surrounded by Nords who hated her because of things she literally was no part of and being attacked by dragons daily were not things she had prepared herself for.  


She walked through the small house slowly, running her fingers along the backs of every chair, the scrollwork on the kitchen bar, and the ornate doors of the bookcases. Every detail was perfectly Mirinn, somehow a combination of hardy Skyrim-ness and a bit of elven nostalgia. It felt somewhat foreign, but she hoped that she would adjust to the house quickly. Suddenly, she was overwhelmingly both tired and sad. 'Shit, not now, Zen. Keep it together'.  


“Faendal, I need a nap before we go back over to Whiterun. Keep an eye out for a barrage of assassins for me?” She half-smiled. Faendal rolled his eyes and nodded. She playfully half-punched him on the arm and shuffled into the bedroom.  


The beds had been made with Mirinn’s distinct precision, blankets folded crisply, furs placed exactly in the center of the bed, and pillows fluffed and placed just so. Zenotha collapsed on the double bed and fell asleep almost instantly, clutching a pillow that still smelled of the purple mountain flowers Mirinn loved so dearly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

When Zenotha woke up it was dark outside. She had no idea what time it was- hell, or if it was even the same day, to be honest. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark, squinting as if she’d be able to listen for Faendal better. She heard light snoring from the entryway to the house. Either Faendal had fallen asleep or she had a visit from a very tired burglar. She smiled to herself, stretched, and promptly fell out of bed. 'Oof', she thought. 'That’s gonna leave another bruise to add to the growing collection'.  


“Are you alright?” Faendal had apparently been startled awake up by her graceful thud.  


“I’m fine. Just me, no burglars. No thanks to you.”  


“I locked the door. We have locks here in Skyrim, you know.”  


“Okay, smartass.” She pulled herself up with a groan and shuffled into the entryway.  


“Where are we off to now?”  


“Mirinn left me a strange note about a rumor of a unique bow she refers to as ‘Ruin’s Edge’ that she thought I’d be interested in. Didn’t give me a lot of details, just that it’s in Stony Creek Cave. I think it’s kinda near Riften?”  


“What’s so special about it?”  


“She said it adds random effects to arrows randomly. A lot of randomness involved, I know. Sounds daedric or something, though, so no surprise there. I’m interested if it’s as good as she said. At least until I find a better bow?” She shrugged. “A lot of the smiths we’ve talked to have great blades but not so many bows. To be fair, it wouldn’t hurt to get better with blades, but…... “  


“No, I agree. It’s an unfortunate truth but I don’t see a lot of Nords using bows outside of the city guards, at least in the places I’ve been. To be honest, I think a lot of Nords see bows as elf weapons. Surely someone somewhere will have a quality one that you’ll be happy with.”  


Zenotha smirked and wiped her hands on a nearby dishrag. She scratch her ear tip on her sleeve and sighed, tossing the rag aside. She grabbed her helmet and bow, and gestured for Faendal to follow her as she walked out the door, grabbing a sweet roll on the way out.  


It wasn’t that long of a walk to the Whiterun stables in reality, but of course it started raining about halfway there. Zenotha groaned and rolled her eyes. 'I should probably get used to this, shouldn’t I? I guess it’s better than the supposed possibility of sinking into the sea at home'. She caught a glimpse of a couple sludging through the rain ahead of them as they neared the stables. They looked thoroughly soaked, and ragged. She jogged up ahead to speak to them.  


“Dragons are in the skies, traveler,” the man said to her. “Be careful in your travels.”  


“I know. I was at Helgen,” Zenotha said. She looked between the two of them, both Nords. She braced herself for the inevitable shitty comment that would surely be the next thing he said- after all, it seemed like most Nords blamed either the Thalmor or the Stormcloaks for the dragons, and she definitely didn’t look like a Stormcloak.  


“We lost our home, our everything. Mind the skies, stranger.” The woman had a thick, undeniable accent.  


“Here,” Zenotha said. She dug some septims out of her pouch. “It isn’t much, but at least get a stay out of the rain for the night. The rain here seems to chill to the bone.”  


“Talos bless you! I mean….” The man abruptly looked somewhere between terrified and embarrassed. 'Ah, there’s that Thalmor association, you know, since apparently all Altmer are Thalmor'.  


“Your secret is safe with me. I have no problem with the worship of Talos. I’m not with the Thalmor.” She smiled and waved Faendal over, leaving the baffled couple to look at him in bewilderment as he passed, confusing him as well.  


“Wait what was that?” He asked when he caught up.  


“No matter. Just some people in need that I think were surprised by an act of charity.” She squinted at him. “Now don’t let it get around that I’m sometimes nice, I need a bit of a bad reputation.”  


Carriage driver Bjorlam waved when he saw them approaching. “Where to now, my friend?”  


“Riften, this time.”  


“Ever been to Riften?” as she climbed into the back of the carriage.  


“Bjorlam I’ve been here for like a week. When would I have had the chance to go to Riften?” She cackled. “I’m sorry, that was ruder than I meant it to be. No, I haven’t been. Have you been, Faendal?”  


“I have not, no,”  


“Well, I guess this’ll be an adventure for both of us.” She grinned and elbowed him. He just groaned.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“So this is where I’m supposed to find this amazing bow? It looks half-flooded!” Zenotha groaned. “My boots have only just dried out from the walk to Whiterun.”  


“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this is probably going to happen a lot in Skyrim,” Faendal quipped.  


“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I’m probably going to complain the whole time.” She winked. “Alright, well let’s see what we have here. I don’t see any sort of guard outside so hopefully there’s either no one here or only a few people susceptible to fire.”  


“Wait, what? Susceptible to fire….?” He looked at her, obviously confused. “What do you mean aside from the obvious?  


“Oh wow, that’s a hell of an oversight on my part, isn’t it? I guess you haven’t seen me use magic so far.” She grinned and snapped fingers on both hands- one hand burst into flame and the other one sizzled with sparks. “So this is a thing I can do. Sparks should be handy if the cave’s as flooded as it looks…. And the fire should be handy if it’s not. Not that I don’t know other spells but these are the most effortless. No big deal.”  


“Just don’t hit me with either if they’re so effortless.”  


“Well don’t jump in front of me when I use them, how about that?” She stuck out her tongue and waded into the water.  
They quietly crept (well, swam, really) into the cave. There was a dead Breton hanging over a support beam, but there looked to be no one else in the area. Zenotha was surprised at how many fish were living in the pool inside. They all darted out of the way as the pair passed through to a wooden ramp across from the entrance. The passageway through the cave was upstream through a small creek. 'Good job naming this place', she thought. After they worked their way up a ways, she noticed something strange about the air.  


“Faendal, get back. I think I can ignite this gas or whatever it is. Catch is it will damage you, too. Stand back a bit.”  


“You’re going to light up the whole place?”  


“Did I stutter? Yes. I am going to set this whole place on fire, and it’ll take you with it if you don’t back up.” She shooed him away with her hands. He obviously reluctantly retreated until she stopped waving him off, then she turned around to face the mystery fumes. She could slightly make out a big lumbering figure that seemed like he might be the bandits’ leader. She took a deep breath and looked away as she pushed her fire in front of her. The gas went up in huge flames, a giant fire bomb that swept through the rest of the cave. Mini explosions rocked the area where the bandit was, most definitely killing him nearly instantly (she hoped). She drew her hands back for a moment, then turned to survey the rest of the cave. She had in fact wiped out three remaining bandits (two of which she hadn’t even known were there) and she could almost make out the figure of the oddly-shaped bow in the leader’s hands. She had taken a risk with the flames, hoping it would pay off and not damage the weapon. She scampered up to the leader’s body, hopping between stones, and sure enough, there was the bow. There was one major detail that Mirinn had left out of the report, though, or maybe she didn’t know.  


It had an eyeball.  


“Why does this thing have an EYEBALL?” She screeched. “How am I supposed to shoot this thing when it has an EYEBALL?’  


“Oh that is unsettling.” Faendal sounded obviously weirded out. Zenotha pulled lightly on the bowstring. The eye blinked.  


“FAENDAL THE EYEBALL JUST BLINKED.” She was mildly panicked. “Why is it fucking blinking? Why is there a fucking eyeball to begin with?”  


“To watch behind you for assassins, maybe” He smirked.  


“You’re not helping, sir!” She took a deep breathe. “You know, considering I was fighting walking corpses the other day, this really shouldn’t seem so horrible, I guess. I mean at least this hasn’t talked to me yet.”  


“If that makes you feel better.” He was clearly not alright with the eyeball bow, maintaining a decent distance from it.  


“This is somehow not the strangest thing that’s happened to me in the last two weeks when you think about it.” She groaned. “And I did want a better bow. Listen, I gotta try to find a bright side to this or I might puke when it blinks again,”  
The eye blinked again. She rolled her eyes dramatically but didn’t gag.  


“Fuuuuuuck. Alright come on, everybody. Elf. Eyeball. Let’s hit the road.”  


“Excuse me, since when...”  


“Let’s goooooooo.” Zenotha clapped her hands. “Let’s just deal with Eyeball Bow here later and get back to making some gold, yes?”  
Faendal narrowed his eyes at her. She patted the bow as she would have patted a dog and turned on her heel. Leaving the cave proved slightly more treacherous than entering, the downward slope making it far slipperier, it seemed. When they swam out into the pond, they caught an elderly fisherman off guard. Zenotha gave him a quick, awkward wave and scrambled out of the water.  


It was a long trek through the woods to the road and down to Riften. She chattered on about several things- Mirinn, finding out she had magical abilities when her childhood neighbors' son tried to push her into a well, the dog that followed her home from the market that one time and still lives with her parents today…. Faendal was absolutely exhausted when they arrived back at Riften. Even Zenotha had quieted and her eyelids had gotten heavy. She refused to get a room at the inn in Riften, though. She had a perfectly warm and dry home of her own that was a not-quite-short carriage ride away as she kept reminding him. The whole time, she kept nodding off, only to get jarred awake by a rock in the road, or a roar of a somewhat-distant dragon, or just Faendal prodding her.  


A few hours later, Bjorlam announced their arrival back at Whiterun. Zenotha had been half-asleep but was jolted awake by something in her peripheral- a strange Argonian man watching from a distance. He was wearing black and red armor identical to the armor that of the assassin from a few days prior. Suddenly, she realized that she may have a very large and very legitimate problem on her hands- and she’d rather face down fifty dragons than whatever the Dark Brotherhood had in store for her.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a great writer, I know, but I hope the general ideas I have are entertaining! Most of what I'm using is from the base game but some is from Creation Club add-ons and some is me fudging the details a little.


End file.
